Don't Cry
by Ciccialine
Summary: Sometimes lifes too much for Kenny to take, has this pushed him too far?


_All the worlds a stage, and the director's psycho _

_Death is release, life is torture _

_To escape this world…_

I sigh, looking at the scrawling handwriting on my bedroom wall. I started writing on it when I was 15, just writing my thoughts down. Any normal kid's parents would ground them for a month, writing on the wall. I'd be lucky if my parents noticed I exist long enough to ground me.

I start to write. I don't even know the words coming out my pen. When I look at it, it just one word, repeated so many times it takes up every crack, every space on the wall.

_Trapped Trapped Trapped Trapped Trapped Trapped Trapped Trapped Trapped Trapped Trapped Trapped Trapped Trapped Trapped Trapped Trapped Trapped Trapped Trapped Trapped Trapped Trapped Trapped _

I sigh again. That word sums up my life, pretty much. Trapped. Trapped into this shack with parents who forget who I am, trapped in a school where people pity me, trapped in a world where money matters. Where she isn't there.

Sometimes I can feel everything crushing me, trapping me until I can barely breathe. The worst thing is I can't escape from it. I tried everything. I can't kill myself, I've tried it. Drugs, alcohol, and writing on my wall are a temporary escape, but coming back to reality just makes me feel worse about myself.

Sleeping works too, when I can fall asleep. Most of the night I lie awake. Pathetic. I'm so useless I can't even control my body enough to do one simple thing. I don't deserve to live.

In those shitty motivational films, they always say "never forget who you are". That's the only thing that keeps me sane. When I'm drunk or high, I'm not myself. When I'm writing, I'm not a person; I'm just thoughts, just feelings that can be put into words or shapes. Forgetting who I am is bliss.

I look at myself in the only un-cracked mirror in the house. I'm skinny, living-on-one-poptart-a-day skinny. You can count my ribs. My face is too thin, the skin too tight across my skull. My arms are the only thing I like about myself. Covered in intricate, swirling patterns, flowing from my shoulder to my wrist. Henna-like scars.

It's taken me years to get them right. You can see at the top they're a bit wobbly. When I started I was unsure, unfocused. Then I realised it was more than just cutting, more than what those lame-ass kids did behind the school for attention. This was art; this was art with natural paint on a natural canvas, and more permanent than any tattoo. This was my choice. This was a reminder. I cut in one swirl every day. 547 swirls on each arm, a reminder of the 1094 days since it happened. Three years exactly.

Three years, and I don't have any room on my arms now. I don't have any excuses, anything to keep me here.

All I have to do is say goodbye

I start to write

* * *

><p><em>Dear everyone <em>

_This is a hard letter to write. I know I'm a pussy for not saying this to your faces, but I know you'd try to convince me not to go. And I couldn't stand that._

_First off, don't worry about me. I can look after myself. And don't look for me. I'm leaving my phone here; I'm deleting everything to do with me off the internet. I'm not going anywhere you can find me, so don't try. It's better if it's just a clean break. _

_It's been exactly three years since Bebe died. She was the only person I loved, and god took her. The only comfort I had was that I was holding her, kissing her, as she went. The year we had together was the best thing in my life, and I wanted to spend every year of my life with her. She died the week before I was going to propose. A seventeen year-old shouldn't die. She never knew how much I loved her._

_All I want to do is join her, see her once more, see her face, hear her say "yes". But I can't do that. Whoever decided to take her also decided I couldn't join her. Because letting me join the woman I wanted to marry would be too happy. Letting me die would be too easy. _

_I can't stay here anymore. Every place, every tree reminds me of her. She touched too many things, too many lives, and everything she touched just reminds me that she'll never touch it again. I know it's the easy way out, but if I go somewhere where she never was, then maybe I wouldn't feel so crushed._

_Stan, never take what you have with Wendy for granted. If she's taken too, you'll regret not telling her how much you love her, you'll regret every bad feeling you ever made her feel. Never let anyone take her away. Also, don't change. Be who you're comfortable with being. You're always the nice one, the peacemaker. If you changed that, I think our whole town would kill each other. You're always the one who learned from all the crazy shit we got into, and taught people. You taught me a lot about being a person. I wish I could have your strength, your way of looking on the bright side. But I'm not you. And I wish I could be, but I can't. The world is just too harsh, and I'm too weak. I'm sorry Stan, more sorry than I can say_

_Kyle, I know you often think these things are your fault. This isn't you, and don't blame yourself for it. This is just me, and the situation. Kyle, you've been the best friend anyone could ask for. You were always by my side, there for me whenever. When I had my muscle disease, you were next to me through the whole thing, and you made it a lot easier. With Bebe, you were even better; you made her last days as comfortable as you could. I wish I could thank you for everything. My whole life, you stuck up for me, and were there for me. Kyle, you've kept me sane these past three years, and if it wasn't for you, I would have left long ago. Don't ever take shit from other people. You're the most amazing guy I know, and anyone who doesn't see it is blind._

_Cartman. I know that you're a psycho, but you've really been a bro these last three years, in a way. I really appreciate you trying to take my mind off things. I also know you're most likely to pull off some crazy scheme that looks like it'll never work, but ends up finding me. I'm asking you now, don't. If you have any respect for me and my choices, let me go. I'd prefer for my last words to you to be this letter, and not me seriously losing my shit and yelling at you before storming off. Also, Cartman, I want you to know that I don't have any hard feelings. I know it was you that crashed your car into Bebes. I'm sorry for everything I said, I know now that you did the only thing you could do. Steering into her probably saved both our lives. Bebe forgave you too._

_I wish we could be back in those days where we could just say what we learned and go back to normal. But things change. This is permanent._

_Goodbye, you guys. You've been the best things in my life. I'll never forget you_

_Kenny_

* * *

><p>I put the letter into an envelope, writing their names on the front. <em>Stan, Kyle, Cartman. <em>I almost add _and Kenny _on the list, which makes me smile. The four boys, everyone called us. Even though there were lots of groups with four boys, everyone thought of us if you mentioned "the four boys". I'm not just leaving the group; I'm splitting up the icon.

I've already said goodbye to the town. I've been down to Starks pond, up Main Street, all the places which had so many memories. I've sat by our old bus stop, back against the pole, thinking about all the times we met up here and how, more often than not, something crazy started. We would always assume that it was normal, and go along with it. Finally, I went to the old graveyard. I talked to the graves of everyone I knew, that British kid, pip pirrup, who was always so nice that we ripped on him mercilessly. Chef, who was the only adult who had a mind of their own. He taught me and all the other guys a lot about everything, but mainly making love to women down by the fire.

I felt my feet walking towards the newest grave. I put a rose on the earth before I face the almost-new gravestone

_Bebe Stevens, Died age 17_

_No jewel is as lovely as thee  
>Sleep now, little one, the lord holds you now<em>

"Hey Bebe" I say, sitting on the earth. I don't think about her body, six feet under. "They got the first part of the epitaph right, but you'd hate the second. You always wore those heels to make you look taller." The suns breaking across the mountains, but sunrise starts at 4:30 in the summer. I still have about three hours. I look at it. The orange and pink and blue and white blend together, making this an amazing sight. The snow reflects it, so land and sky merge together. Bebe loved living here because of the sunrise.

"I'm leaving today. You said to move on, and maybe this is the way to do it. You're just too much a part of South Park for me to ever move on here." I pause "everyone still misses you." A rabbit runs across the graveyard, leaving dimpled footprints in the snow. "It's been exactly three years, but everyone still talks about you. You really helped a lot of people"

"Goodbye Bebe. I'll see you up there if I can" the old Bebe would never leave south park. Everyone assumed she'd work as a model in New York, but she stayed. She's staying forever, like she wanted.

I sit there until the suns fully up. As an afterthought, I rip off a sleeve from my parka and bury it. A piece of me, for her.

The clocks striking six as I get home. I have my backpack ready. I have a route planned, through the mountains so no one can track me. I have my gun, my breaking and entering tools, and all my money. I have an hour before anyone comes. Time to leave.

I look back at the room, the wall covered with thoughts. I write one last thing, before I leave

_She touched everything in life, in death, she took away all light_

It isn't enough, so I add

_I loved her I loved her I loved her I loved her I loved her I loved her I loved her I loved her I loved her _

Nothings enough, but these words are the closest thing. I loved her. And now all I have left is a gravestone, and the scars on my arms. She loved this pattern; she had a tattoo of it on her shoulder.

I look at my room for the last time. Cracked green paint, a dingy bed and three years of thoughts written in biro. I don't need to say goodbye.

* * *

><p>My parents are asleep as I leave. I pin the letter to the front door. I don't say goodbye to my parents either. They've pretty much forgotten who I am now. When Kev and Karen left, they didn't even notice that their two favourite kids had just gone.<p>

One last look at the place I called home for the last eighteen years. Crappiest house in South Park. When I had sleepovers, all the other kids pretended I wasn't their friend so they wouldn't have to sleep here. I would too, if I was them.

Nothings keeping me here now. I've said my goodbyes to everyone that matters.

I turn away. I turn away from South Park, from my whole life, and I head towards the mountains.

**(Kyle's POV)**

I'm coming to Kenny's house early today. It's the third anniversary of Bebe dying, and I figured Kenny would probably need some comfort. I saw him last night just sitting next to the old bus stop we used when we were kids, just sitting in the snow. Not crying, not moving, and just sitting.

He was also acting weird the last time we all went out. He didn't say anything, just looked at us and drank. He drank a lot. He kept staring, like he was trying to memorise us or something.

_Memorise us?_

Shit. Kenny wouldn't do that, would he? Kenny wouldn't be that stupid.

Just when I'm trying to remind myself that Kenny's not weak, not one of those people who runs, I see the note.

_Stan, Kyle, Cartman __an_

I rip it open blindly, tearing the envelope. I can see the tearstains on the paper, are they his or mine? _Don't look for me, _he said. God, he really must not know us that well. Or me at least.

I see a flash of orange, about a mile up the mountain. It's not moving, just lying there.

_Please god, don't let me be too late. _

I start running.

**(Kenny's POV)**

Why am I lying here?

Why is it cold?

Where am I?

These are the first thoughts that run through my head. I'm face-up in the snow, about a mile above South Park. I'm soaked through. I think I just fell asleep.

Damn, I knew talking to a gravestone all night would have its drawbacks.

I don't move. It's comfortable, here in the snow, and it's not as cold as I thought. I might just lie here, and let hypothermia take me. I've died of hypothermia before. It's peaceful, like being hugged before being let go. And I'll just end up back here anyway.

I lie back down in the snow and close my eyes.

I can hear footsteps. Yelling. Gasping for breath. Kyle's voice, screaming my name

_It's too late, don't look for me. Just let death take me. _

I feel the last stages setting in. warmth. I can feel someone hugging me to them, but I can't open my eyes. I don't want to anymore. Let me go Kyle. LET ME GO.

"Kenny!" his voice sounds close, and far away at the same time "Kenny don't go, don't go, god please don't go now" he sounds desperate. I try to breathe, but it rattles in my throat. _Too late. Don't cry Kyle, just let me go. Stop crying Kyle._

His tears feel boiling on my skin, his hands too hot. He's wrapping me in something, I think a blanket. He's holding me, crying and whispering to me. I can't hear what he's saying. I can't speak, I can't tell him to let me go. I never meant to make you cry, Kyle. Stop crying. I'm sorry Kyle, don't cry. Please don't cry. I hate it when you cry.

**(Kyle's POV)**

Kenny has a pulse. He's alive. I can hear him breathing. I'm focusing on the positives, because if I even start to think of anything else, I swear I'll go crazy.

I know what to do when someone has hypothermia; it's not that unusual in a town like this. Share body heat, remove them from the cold ground, and monitor breathing. He's wrapped in a blanket, which is the most I can do without moving him too much.

"Kenny don't go, please just stay here, don't die, the world will go if you die, please don't die Kenny I don't know what I'd do if you died, please don't die" I whisper to him, trying to make my words a lifeline, something that ties me to him. A keep-away-death spell.

Is it just me, or is he breathing better? _Sometimes even hearing a familiar voice can subconsciously improve the patient's physical state. _I keep talking, just saying my thoughts.

"Kenny stay here, everyone will miss you if you go, don't die yet, why would you do this? Everyone wants you here Kenny, I love you, please stay here"

Shit, what did I just say?

Did I just tell Kenny McCormick I loved him?

I stop speaking. Hug Kenny closer to me. The towns coming to life. I can see cars, and smoke starting to rise. We're meant to be at school. Kenny's too still, too cold.

Do I love Kenny?

Yes. Why did I wait till he's almost dead to tell him?

Because I'm a coward. That's all I am, a coward who came too late.

**(Kenny's POV)**

"_Kenny? Kenny?" is that her voice?_

"_Bebe?" _

"_Yeah it's me. I have to tell you something" I listen. God her voice is so beautiful "Kenny, you have to let me go. I'm not the only one who loved you, and I'm not the only one you'll ever love." _

"_What? Bebe, I'll never love anyone the way I loved you. When you left, a part of me left too"_

"_I know, but I've been holding you back. Someone else loves you now, and you love them"_

"_I love someone else?" I can't love anyone else, Bebe was too perfect_

"_You love someone else, and remembering me is keeping you from being happy with them" _

"_Bebe… I still love you. You don't know how much"_

"_Kenny, I'm dead. You can't love a dead person. I have to leave now, but stop hanging onto me. Its stopping you from being happy and I don't want to be responsible for that"_

"_Wait! Bebe, one more thing…"_

"_I would've said yes, Kenny. But you can't think about back then. Thinking about back then almost killed you. The one who you love now saved your life." _

_Kyle?_

"_Goodbye Kenny"_

"_Goodbye Bebe"_

I open my eyes

"Kyle?"

**(Kyle's POV)**

"Kyle?"

His voice is dry and raspy, but right now it's the most beautiful thing I ever heard

"Kenny?"

"Hey Kyle" he says, managing a small grin

"Kenny…" I don't know what to say until I remember the hypothermia training "keep the blanket on, we need to get you to somewhere warm. Can you walk?"

He tries, and collapses again

"Here, how about if I prop you up?"

"Kyle, I heard something… weird when I was asleep"

Shit, did he hear me?

"Just concentrate on walking for now"

He tries, but a rock sends us both down

"Kyle, don't cry." Wow, I didn't even realise I still had tears running down my face. I duck my head, but he touches my chin, making me face him. God, he looks like an angel right now. He almost was one.

"Kenny, I thought you were dead!" I start sobbing for real, pitching into him. He catches me, holds me as I cry into his shoulder. He hugs me as I let go of all the fear, all the worries and sadness from the last three hours. He doesn't let go.

**(Kenny's POV)**

Don't cry Kyle. I never meant to hurt you so much.

Don't cry. I wish I could make you happy.

"I'm alive now" I say, looking at him. His hair is mental, as always, his face has tear tracks, and his usually emerald eyes are rimmed with red, but he's never looked more stunning.

It's now or never.

"Kyle, I'm alive now, because you saved my life. I just want you to know-" oh god, I'm starting now "that you've been amazing, you've been the best friend I could ask for, and I couldn't live without you. I love you, and I wish I'd realised that before all this happened"

Kyle stops sobbing. "You love me?"

"Yes" I say. It's all I can manage without my voice cracking

"I love you too" he says, grinning like he's just won a million dollars

I don't say anything, just grin too

"y'know, apart from the whole bit back there, this was the best day of my life"

"Mine too"

**(18 Years later)**

Bebe McCormick sat watching the sun rise over the graveyard. The snow reflected the sky, merging the two worlds, the way it always did. She sat by the weathered grave

_Bebe Stevens, Died age 17_

_No jewel is as lovely as thee  
>Sleep now, little one, the lord holds you now<em>

She didn't talk to the grave as her dad had done, but sitting near the grave eased her.

"What're you doing here?"

Bebe jumped, and then relaxed as she recognised her dads face. Kenny sat by the grave with his daughter.

"Just sitting". That was at least half-true. "What are you doing here?"

"Just sitting too" he smiled

"Why do you go to this grave every week?" the question just popped out without her thinking about it. Surprisingly, her dad didn't look angry, even though he hated her asking questions about the past. In fact, his face didn't have any emotions crossing it at all.

"Bebe was a… friend. One of my best friends when I was younger. She touched everyone and everything in this town. If you asked anyone about Bebe, they could tell you how she made their lives better"

"Dad…" she paused, knowing this question might ruin everything "was Bebe my mother?"

Kenny looked at his daughter. No one could look less like Bebe Stevens if they tried. Bebe McCormick had dark tanned skin, the opposite of the old Bebes porcelain. His daughter had long, deep brown hair which she braided into dreadlocks, and most different were their eyes. The now fifteen year-old had black eyes, which snapped and changed at the slightest cue, unlike the calm, constant blue eyes which Bebe had once owned.

The snapping eyes looked at him, waiting anxiously for an answer

"Bebe… This girl isn't your mother. Your mothers in the same place the old Bebe is now."

"Why did you name me after her?"

"You know how I said that the old Bebe changed everyone's lives"

"Yes"

"Well Bebe changed my life in a lot of ways. The one best thing she did was she put me and your dad together, and that one thing she did saved my life. I named you after her so she'll know how much I appreciate it."

"I wish I could have met her" she mumbled, keeping her eyes on the snow. She didn't see the flash of pain that ripped across her dads face.

"She would have loved you, I'm sure" Kenny said lightly, disguising the sadness in his voice. "c'mon, Kyle's gonna be worried. You were meant to be back an hour ago"

* * *

><p><em>AN: Awwww, ultrafluff! _

_anyways, this is my first fic on here. I wrote it because my sister died in a car accident three years ago today, and she loved south park. She was just like the Bebe I described here, she really helped everyone. So I'm dedicating this fic to Jo, 1989-2008. _


End file.
